Life's impression
by May Arisa
Summary: Songfic to No One Mourns The Wicked. Russia's dead. The rest celebrates. But you only know what you've got when it's gone, right? The world just isn't the same, as the other Nations experience. Warning: Character Death


The idea for this fic literally jumped at me (you know who you are xD) and I had to write it. The song used is No one Mourns The Wicked, the opening song from the musical Wicked, and it fits Russia so perfectly! Although I had to change the lyrics a bit to make it a little more believable... This is my first songfic, so please give me some feedback!

Warning: Character Death.

* * *

Russia was dying.

He had known it for a long time, but it had always seemed so far away, something to worry about later…

Not anymore. His strength was draining and it was only by sheer willpower the other Nations still had no clue. But, he thought darkly to himself, they would soon. His dreams were shattered; never would the others become one with him, never would they all live together in someplace warm surrounded by lots of sunflowers.

Off course, no one knew about his ideals, but that was only because they'd never bothered to ask. Even the Baltic brothers, who had lived with him for so long, had merely glanced away when he spoke of an united world. If anyone had cared, he would happily have shared his visions. He had always known that they were scared of him, and he had done his fair share to earn the reputation he had, but still…

It hurt that even his sweet sisters had turned away from him, one physically and the other mentally, because they didn't trust him anymore. Russia wasn't insane. He knew everyone believed him to be, and thus he tried his best to forfill their expectations of him. But he wasn't insane.

He was, however, lonely. Often he desperately reached out to someone, anyone, just to drive out the cold void in his chest. But they always declined, some politely, some not. No one wanted to be in the same room as him if they could avoid it. The stories of his treatment of especially Lithuania were legendary, but he hadn't wanted to hurt him, not really. He merely wanted to have someone understand his pain.

Lithuania was the perfect candidate, but he hadn't been injured nearly as much or as bad as Russia had, so he had to be taught how pain felt. Russia grasped around for another bottle of vodka and downed it in one gulp. The alcohol burned down his throat and for a second Russia lost himself in the delicious heat.

The proud country of Russia, with its strong mind and even stronger people, who had endured so many hardships and survived, was broken. With a sob that had been contained for quite a few centuries, for the first time Russia truly realised that probably nobody would mourn him, and his own people, whom he had loved so much and had fought so hard for, would destroy him.

Russia was dying.

* * *

Three days later, it was on every television channel: Russia had fallen. After almost a decade of civil war the rebels had defeated those who were loyal to Russia and announced that the large country would be divided into several smaller nations. To celebrate this fact, one of America's most prized Broadway musicals, Wicked, had changed the lyrics of the opening song slightly and broadcasted it across the whole world.

_Good news! He's dead!__  
__The land in the East is dead!__  
__The wickedest land there ever was__  
__The enemy of all of us here on Earth__  
__Is dead!__  
__Good news!__  
__Good news!_

* * *

_Look! It's America!_

The World Conference Room became silent as America strode in, a big smile on his face. Everyone was happy that now, finally, they could relax when they discussed world matters, but nobody like America. After the Cold War he had started to resent this room, or rather one of its many occupants. But not anymore. He walked to his seat at the head of the table. Everyone kept looking at him, so he figured he might as well start speaking.

_Fellow Nations, _

He began,

_Let us be glad__  
__Let us be grateful__  
__Let us rejoicify that goodness could subdue__  
__The wicked workings of you-know-who__  
__Isn't it nice to know__  
__That good will conquer evil?__  
__The truth we all believe'll by and by__  
__Outlive a lie__  
__For you and…_

Then America was interrupted by cheers and loud applause. Everyone knew that now Russia was dead, the shadow of communism would also pass, for he was the only one who had truly believed in it. After an exaggerated bow America, addressing the rest again, asked for silence and resumed his victory speech:

_No one mourns the wicked _

_No one cries "They won't return!" _

_No one lays a lily on their grave _

_The good man scorns the wicked! _

_Through their lives, our children learn _

_What we miss, when we misbehave_

* * *

A few days later, Russia's body was recovered from a shack in the northern snow. Because of the cold it had been well conserved and in some kind of glass coffin the most frightening country lay as if he was sleeping and could wake up every moment. His trademark scarf was forever draped around his neck, hiding a crest-shaped black brand. All countries could inspect the body if they wanted to, just to make sure he was really dead.

When they were all assembled, the curtain hiding the body was lifted up. A collective gasp could be heard, as there, undeniably, lay the nightmare of most. Dead. Really, truly, dead. Suddenly France leaped in the air and began dancing, even singing. Soon after, the rest followed his example.

The joyous party lasted the whole night, under the unseeing violet eyes of Russia.

* * *

_And Goodness knows__  
__The wicked's lives are lonely__  
__Goodness knows__  
__The wicked die alone__  
__It just shows when you're wicked__  
__You're left only__  
__On your own_

America visited England the next morning before the Conference began, still suffering from a massive hangover. But duties were duties and he had to represent his country and in order to do that he had to make preparations. But instead of business, they ended up talking about the party from the night before, and the cause of it.

'You know, we're all better off without him. I mean, did you see anyone crying for him? Even his sisters celebrated.' America said. England looked thoughtful. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't help but admit that America was right. After a while everyone who could have had left the large Nation, and those who couldn't kept as much out of his path as possible.

From personal experience he knew that Russia was mean and cold, his fake smile giving everyone the creeps. But dying alone, being murdered by in essence yourself was such a horrible way to go… England shuddered by the thought of it, being ripped apart from the inside out, and nothing to alleviate the pain.

If that would ever happen to him, England would even welcome that bastard France, to have company and not to face that kind of death alone.

England vowed that he would never become like Russia, if only to avoid that torment.

* * *

A few weeks later, troops from all over the world marched into Russia's home, seeking personal items to analyse and send back to their respective countries. Quickly it became a competition who could find the most valuable objects.

Right now almost everyone had at least one painting, drawing or sculpture of one or more sunflowers in his possession, but other than that, food, clothes and lots of vodka nothing was found. One by one the soldiers left the cold house, until only the Canadian garrison remained, determined to find the key to Russia's decay.

For it had become clear that such a vast and strong Nation would not crumple overnight. This had to be going on for decades, centuries maybe, and Canada himself, who regularly got updates from his men, even believed Russia never had been unscarred and had often been severely punished when he was raised under the harsh oppression of the Mongols.

Then, around 2.00 pm Vancouver time, a phone call came. They said they had discovered Russia's personal diary, supplied with clearly stated opinions and all in all a gate to Russia's inner thoughts behind his expressionless face and eyes. The diary would be sent as soon as possible and the next morning it was there.

Now Canada sat on his couch, the diary unopened in his hands. He knew he, together with the rest of the world, wanted an insight in Russia's head, but was this the right way? Reading something so personal from such an aloof personality? Canada shook his head, trying to make the doubt go away. As expected, it didn't help much and only succeeded in making him dizzy.

Out of the radio the tune of the intro of the Wicked Russian Song, as it was dubbed, could be heard, making Russia look even worse. Suddenly Canada came to a decision.

If Russia was that evil, he deserved it to be hated by the rest of the world. But if he wasn't, he would do his damnedest best to change the public view.

_Yes, goodness knows__  
__The wicked's lives are lonely__  
__Goodness knows__  
__The wicked cry alone__  
__Nothing grows for the wicked__  
__They reap only__  
__What they've sown_

* * *

The more Canada read, the more confused he became. Who had Russia been? How did he and his sisters grow so apart that they celebrated his death? And why did it seem that Russia had trusted nobody enough to truly open up to them and show them the rumours about him weren't true? Somewhere in his head, the more philosophical part of his mind asked other questions, although closely connected to the ones on the forefront…

_Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them? After all, he had __a father, he had a mother, as so many do…_

* * *

One of the entries - it was dated around seven centuries ago – seemed to be a conversation, which was assumedly later written down, between Russia and his older sister Ukraine, when she went exploring the rest of Europe:

"'_How I hate to go and leave you lonely;' _

Ukraine said. I think she knows I'm scared of the silence, she always knows everything! How does she do that? But I was brave and I said:

'_That's alright - it's only just one night,' _

One night isn't that long, but I hope that the scary General won't come, because it's so cold! I think this time won't be as bad as the last one, for little Bela will be there. Then Ukraine looked strangely at me and said:

'_But know that you're here in my heart__  
__While I'm out of your sight…'_

Then she hugged me as if she was saying farewell. And not normal farewell, but farewell-farewell, like she won't come back… I'm not sure if she saw my tears, but I'll miss her!"

Canada wiped his nose. He had heard the stories, off course, from when Ukraine left her brother Russia and sister Belarus in order to join Europe. Sources said she had just left, without saying goodbye, and not telling that she didn't plan on coming back. But he had never considered how hard a blow this must have been for Russia, particularly since he was back then relatively very young. Now that he thought about it, Russia was still quite young when he died, and never had the chance to find his place in the world and grow old. Canada read on.

A lot of pages later the sentence

_And like every family - they had their secrets…_

just sprang up in his mind. Never was that more appropriate than with this family, who all had suffered so much in silence, never letting an outsider in on their relations, loving, hating, trusting and betraying each other, all with the same goal in mind: escape from the pain that was a constant companion for all three of them.

"Yesterday I came across an old poem, and it reminded me so much of 'Kraine, I had to write it down:

_Have another drink, my dark-eyed beauty__  
__I've got one more night left, here in town__  
__So have another drink of green elixir__  
__And we'll have ourselves a little mixer__  
__Have another little swallow, __Little lady, __And follow Me down…_

One night she just left and never came back. That terrible night her eyes were almost black instead of blue. She had fallen for seductive concepts such as capitalism and democracy. But those are bad, and they've changed her! She has unknowingly drunk the poison, and now she pays the price, for she isn't nice anymore; she even wanted part of my land.

I swear, if she wasn't my sister, I would have attacked her, if only to save her from the addicting prison which they call Freedom. But I won't do that, for I don't attack my own family, even if it is for their own good. I do think, however, that in her state she would have no hesitation if it came to invading me, were it not that I am a much larger and stronger Country now, and she knows she can't win!"

* * *

At the other side of the Atlantic, Germany, Italy Veneziano and all three Baltics were reminiscing the old times. Or rather, Italy was talking, Germany was doing something else and Latvia, Estonia and Lithuania were politely listening without interrupting, a habit left from the time they lived with Russia, already a month ago. For all three off them it seemed a lot longer, and they didn't know quite how to cope with everything.

As Italy kept talking, Lithuania's thoughts wandered off. Russia had been a very large part of his life for a very long time, and since Lithuania had been Russia's favourite, as his brothers called it, he knew more of the large Nation than anyone else. He had seen Russia's moments of weakness and despair, but also those of true delight and joy. Then there was off course the memory of when he was still very young and when Russia was a small, frightened and yet optimistic child who wanted to have a friend.

_And of course, from the moment he was born, he was - well - different!_

He suspected that Russia remembered it too and therefore had liked him so much. From what he heard about the Mongol invasion and from Russia himself, he probably was the first one to be nice to him. Russia had wanted to repay him by taking him in, not understanding why Lithuania didn't like it at all. The whiplashes and beatings didn't help either. But after every learning session, as the Russian liked to call it, there were tears in both of their eyes.

One set watered because of the physical abuse, the other from the mental sort.

'… and Germany, do you remember when Russia came to your house?' Italy asked, immediately gathering the attention of Lithuania as well as that of Latvia and Estonia. Germany stopped doing whatever he did, his eyes looking everywhere except at the Baltic States. 'Ehm, yes, when we signed that pact…' Germany trailed off. He definitely didn't like where this was going.

Italy looked strangely at him. 'Which pact? Was it the one about the pasta prices?' Italy stared straight ahead, obviously with his head by his favourite meal. 'No, it wasn't the one about pasta,' the taller Country responded. He felt it was his duty to tell Italy of this pact, since it had shaped the world, before and after he broke it. He had thought his friend (he had long ago admitted to himself that he cared for the sometimes idiotic Italian) knew at least the basic politics behind the events during WWII, since he himself had participated and even was present when the pact was signed. For a moment he lost himself in the memories about his attack on Russia, first their cries of joy, when they still thought they got reinforcements…

_They're coming!__  
__Now?__  
__Our allies're coming!__  
__And how!__  
__I see a tank__  
__I see a gun__  
__It's a major, perfect, Armed, dangerous…_

Then, he'd ordered to open fire. He remembered the smell of smoke as the city was completely destroyed. The Russian legion, the one that was stationed near the city, hastily grabbing their weapons and rushing out to meet him. He remembered slaughtering them all.

_AAAHHH!__  
__Sweet Lord!__  
__What is it? What's wrong?_

He remembered the cruel comments his men had made at the dying soldiers who were once their brothers-in-arms. The sheer heartlessness from his superior breaking the pact, indirectly killing millions upon millions of people. He remembered the reports their spies within Russian ranks had sent.

_How can it be?__  
__What does it mean?__  
__It's atrocious! It's obscene!__  
__Like a common, filthy traitor__  
__The Germans do want all of us be killed!_

_Drive them away; drive them away!_

In those reports, the highest Russian war meetings were written down with disturbingly much details. They became desperate. Back then the Germans had seemed inconvincible, but the Russians wouldn't budge. They were too proud and had lived too long in what was essentially slavery to take any more. They were determined to protect their land at any cost. Then it struck Germany. Was that what Russia had been doing all along? Using and enslaving Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia to protect himself? To have a bugger zone? Was it possible that the whole Cold War was nothing more than a very unusual and unpractical way of Russia to seek allies to hide behind?

'… Germany? Was it the pact about pasta?' Germany sighed. He had a lot to explain.

* * *

On different parts of the world, several Nations came at the same time to the same conclusion: There was more to Russia than he had ever let anybody know.

_So you see - it couldn't have been easy!_

* * *

Most people were glad Russia was gone, even most ex-Russians were happy with the new government. But the next World Conference held was tense. No one wanted to admit it first, but everyone knew it: they missed Russia. His never-faltering false smile, his sharp and innocent looking violet eyes, so at odds with his explosive temper and even his requests "to become one with Russia, da?"

_No one mourns the wicked!__  
__Now at last, he's dead and gone!__  
__Now at last, there's joy throughout the world__  
__And goodness knows__  
__We know what goodness is__  
__Goodness knows__  
__The wicked die alone_

Everyone had bad memories about Russia, but until now they didn't realise how many good ones they also possessed. The following day America brought a bottle of vodka instead of water with him to the meeting, and the next day everyone had one. It became a habit to bring a bottle of vodka with you, and the tradition continued long after the cause was forgotten.

_He died alone_

Guilt was what most Nations felt when they looked at the old World Map on the wall. Russia stood proud above all, defying the freezing cold in the north. Since Russia was no more, they had already planned to remove this old map, but no one had undertaken action, for then it would be real, Russia would be completely dead. Now they could at least pretend he had retreated into his vast house, with no one to disturb him if he didn't want them to. He had done so before.

_Woe to those__  
__Who spurn what Goodness is__  
__They are shown __No one mourns the Wicked!_

_Good news!_

Canada, after having asked permission to the United Nations, published Russia's diary, giving a whole new perspective on history. Later Germany's notes appeared in bookshops, including information over the WWII that had been considered secret before. Both became bestsellers, and were later published together.

_No one mourns the Wicked!_

As time went by, life also went back to normal. England's and France's arguments started again, economics expanded and yet everything was different. Life could never become normal again, realised America one day, before stuffing another hamburger in his mouth.

_Good news!_

There was never an monument or a statue made for Russia nor was an international mourning day established, but the other Nations began to collect Russia's personal things, even if they held no value whatsoever. They would be squeezed together in some store room or other, and once in so many years they would look at them and remember. Remember Russia, remember his fate, so that it would never happen again to any other.

_No one mourns the Wicked!__  
_

_Wicked!_

_Wicked!_

Years later bright yellow sunflowers grew all around the shack where Russia had left the world.


End file.
